No, Mom, I didn't unfriend you.
I deactivated my account.
I unfriended everyone.
It felt great.
Because I've seen all of the baby pictures
and hashtag activism and cat GIFs
that I ever need to see.
I'm good.
I'm out.
What?
No.
Sorry, it's just I could've sworn I closed that.
Nothing.
I think I'm just getting old like you.
Yeah, okay.
When you start talking Mandarin, I know it's time to hang up.
Bye.
No.
No way.
This is Sofia.
Leave me a message and I'll call you back.
It's me.
Listen, something's wrong.
I found...
The smell in the kitchen nearly knocked me out.
What do you got cooking in those pots?
Oh, this and that-- black licorice,
an old belt, splash of feline urine.
Okay, so we're gonna have to get new pots,
and I have to get my coffee someplace else today.
The National Council of Sommeliers
is embroiled in scandal.
Over the last year,
three American sommeliers have authenticated
cases of auction wine,
which were later proven to be forgeries.
They didn't realize they were drinking cat pee?
You jest, but that is an identifiable aroma
in certain Sauvignon Blancs.
I've been asked to learn whether or not
these so-called experts
made honest mistakes or whether they were
paid to vouch for fake booze.
The samples downstairs should help
refresh my own olfactory abilities.
This is seriously our next case?
Sniffing out
bribes in the wine auction world.
New York is without a homicide this week.
I'm terribly sorry that disappoints you.
What's with the trampoline?
It really is shocking what they don't teach you
in medical school. Okay, forget I asked.
The lymphatic system, unlike the cardiovascular system,
has no pumping capability; it relies on muscular contraction.
Bouncing up and down is effective,
because it stimulates the system's one-way valves
to open and close simultaneously.
You're increasing lymph flow to boost your immunity
to keep your sinuses clear-- got it.
Seemed like a wise choice.
Why? Are you getting a cold?
Not yet, but we live in close quarters
and I detected a phlegmy rattle in your voice last night.
I feel fine.
Do you?
I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes.
I don't have an appointment.
But I do have money.
? Elementary 4x19 ? All In Original Air Date on April 10, 2016
== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man
? ?
Okay, you're lucky the bullet didn't hit a major artery.
You should be careful with that wrist.
It looks like it could be broken.
No, it isn't. You don't know that.
It's a sprain. Are you a doctor?
Are you?
There's no one out there.
You're safe for the moment.
Perhaps now you can formally introduce yourself.
My name's Lin. Lin Wen.
How'd you come to hear of me, Ms. Wen?
I knew your brother, Mycroft.
I'm a realtor.
I showed him some spaces when he was interested
in relocating his restaurant, Diogenes.
Ow!
I have to put pressure on it.
How were you wounded?
When I got home last night,
there was someone in my apartment.
They started shooting.
I got out to my fire escape,
and then I just jumped.
And the reason you didn't go straight to the police?
It's complicated. They ask too many questions.
You imagined we wouldn't?
This is not a shelter
for wayward and wounded realtors.
I've got no desire to be shot by your pursuers
or drawn into whatever complicated drama
has brought you here.
So tell us, why shouldn't we continue this
in the safety of a police facility?
Please, I told you, I wasn't followed.
You can trust me.
I don't know you.
Mycroft said you help people.
He said you weren't afraid of anything. Was he lying?
So that currency band is not from a commercial bank.
Perhaps you could begin by explaining
that troubling detail.
It isn't mine.
That's not less troubling.
Like I said,
I'm in real estate.
Sometimes, to make a little extra money, I host
no-limit poker games in my empty listings.
Big cash games.
About a week ago, I put together a table
at this amazing penthouse.
Seven high rollers.
Some shady types, but all guys I thought I could trust.
The game was going long, so I stepped out
to get some more drinks.
While I was gone, two guys in hockey masks
stormed in and roughed up my dealer.
They took off with the keys to one of the player's cars,
a Bentley, and all the cash.
$1.2 million. Can we assume
that you did not report this to the police either?
No.
I didn't report my illegal gaming business to the police.
I mean, maybe I should have.
I was just hoping it would all blow over,
and some of the players started digging into it themselves.
Perhaps one of them was beginning to zero in
on the truth, then the real thieves decided to frame you
before it was too late.
You say that was
planted at your apartment.
That and about half million more.
As soon as I found it, the bullets started flying.
I guess they figured if I was dead, I couldn't deny
knocking over my own game.
Did you get a look at your would-be assassin?
No. I just took off.
Who knew about the game?
I put the word out the day before.
Everybody wanted in. Seven players, the dealer.
And I had a lookout,
Ian Walker-- not that it did me any good.
I checked on him that night, but he was gone.
Hasn't returned my calls since.
And you don't suspect him because...?
The guys who ripped off the game were pros.
Ian was just some idiot intern at my office.
He didn't have time to plan a heist, okay?
I grabbed him at the last minute, offered him
1,000 bucks to just stand outside the door.
If I were to guess,
the thieves just paid him $2,000 to walk away.
So tell us about your players.
I know their names.
Contact information? Places of employment?
It was all in my phone, which I dropped
when I thought I was gonna die.
It's back at my place.
I'll retrieve it when I examine the scene.
The address?
849 Broome Street, 2D.
Stay here, would you?
If you decide to offer her a bath,
please be careful removing the fermentation accoutrement
from the tub.
You look vexed.
I am.
This woman, she gives me a weird feeling.
Something about her and her story that's really strange.
Do you remember Mycroft ever planning to move Diogenes?
I don't remember his birthday.
As you know, I do my best to purge nonvital information.
Clutters the mind.
Well, I think he would've told me something like that.
We got pretty close before
the NSA took him out of the country.
You were sex partners, not business partners.
Why would moving his restaurant be any of your concern?
Your concern over Ms. Wen is correct and duly noted,
but so is her gunshot wound and fractured radius.
And, to be fair, Mycroft was in the unfortunate habit
of telling other people about my work.
Her tale of woe might conceal some darker purpose,
but might be legitimate.
Fine. You go, but I'm gonna keep a close eye on her.
As you should.
Hello.
Who are you? Where's Lin?
I'm a detective that she's hired to investigate
the attempt on her life last night.
Y-You don't seem entirely surprised to hear that news.
Lin called me last night.
I thought something happened here
because she left me a weird voice mail,
and I couldn't tell if it was serious or not, but...
Could I hear that voice mail?
It's me. Listen, something's wrong.
I found...
Thank you.
You must be Lin's poker dealer.
Sofia. How did you know?
Uh, your, uh, fingernails,
clipped and unpainted, are at odds
with your carefully applied mascara and lip tint,
but necessitated by your profession.
And also your
periorbital hematoma is yellowing, so...
it's about a week old.
Lin told you what happened at the game?
Mm.
She was outside when the robbery occurred,
and you were inside.
Very much like to discuss what you saw.
It was about 2:00 a.m.
A few players were almost down to the felt,
but they're all hanging in, when these two guys--
they were both in hockey masks-- they kicked the door in.
They had these shiny little guns,
and they fired warning shots into the ceiling.
They were yelling for everyone to... empty their pockets.
They wanted everything.
Cash, wallets, jewelry, keys.
They asked me to gather it all up,
but I guess I was too slow,
because the tall one, he...
clocked me with the butt of his gun.
I don't remember anything else too clearly.
You were concussed?
Afterward, I was slurring my words.
Lin took me to the E.R.
They said I had a hairline orbital fracture, too.
They didn't ask you any questions there?
I told them I fell off a ladder.
Lin begged me not to tell them the truth.
She said she would cover my medical bills,
and I couldn't afford to say no.
This is gonna need some cosmetic work, too.
The, uh, burn on your arm, that's new.
Oh, yes. The result of falling
on a spent shell casing, no? Yeah.
Stung like hell.
Excuse me.
Little bit short for a nine millimeter.
Okay.
Well, it's quite a salient detail.
I'd wager the thieves were using...
Makarov bullets.
Those are Russian-made,
and they don't fit into very many small weapons
like you're describing,
so perhaps they were carrying PA-63 pistols.
Are those rare or something?
Uh, not vanishingly so.
You can usually lay hands on one at a gun show.
One of your players that night,
James Hobberkin, how is he faring?
Not great.
He was playing a little too loose.
Hmm.
He owns and operates one of the largest
annual weapons expositions in the tristate area.
I did my best,
but you are gonna have a scar.
Awesome.
I wouldn't put too much pressure on that wrist either.
I don't care if I lose the arm.
I got to get away from the stench in here.
It's like someone lit a diaper on fire.
Yeah, it has to do with another case.
You do pretty good work for a detective.
I used to be a surgeon.
And now you do this?
That must have been a tough chat with the folks.
"Thanks for the med school, but I'm off to fight crime
with my roommate."
I'm happier, they're happy, and I'm saving on rent.
You know, I used to live, uh, near Gramercy Park,
and I don't have to tell you how pricey that area is getting.
I just sold a studio there last month.
It's crazy.
I think it's a bubble.
Sounds like you do mostly residential work.
So, uh, how did you and Mycroft start working together?
When he was looking at restaurant spaces?
I made an exception for him.
Oh, yeah?
Why?
Because...
he wasn't just a client.
We were together.
You were dating.
It was a new thing, but, I don't know, I...
I kind of thought we might move in together.
Then that fire broke out at Diogenes, and...
just like that, he was gone.
I'm sure Sherlock told you the whole story.
So you and Mycroft were dating until...
He died.
It was weird,
losing someone at the beginning of a relationship, you know?
But...
I think he might have been the one.
What?
I was just thinking I should refresh that ice pack.
You're Holmes.
James Hobberkin Jr. People call me Jimmer.
If you say so.
My girl tells me you're on a deadline,
so I'll cut right to it.
This new law, banning kids from gun shows--
bleeding heart garbage.
The government only does two things well:
nothing and overreact.
And you can quote me.
Thank you, but no.
Excuse me?
I misled your girl. I'm not a journalist writing an article.
I just needed a moment of your time.
A week ago, a poker game that you were playing in was robbed.
I've been hired to find out who did it.
I'm not at liberty to say by whom.
You're a detective.
Well, you should have said so.
Hell, me and the guy you're working for,
we're in the same boat.
No, I'm not so sure about that.
I've come to believe that the thieves
were armed with FEG PA-63s.
According to the state of New York, your company sold
half a dozen such weapons in the last two years.
Wait.
I'm a suspect because the robbers used guns?
Oh, not just any guns.
Give me a break.
I had twice as much money in that game
as anyone else at the table.
Mr. Hobberkin-- Jimmer--
you were able to get yourself dressed this morning,
so you're smart enough to realize how stupid that sounds.
If all the money ends up in your pocket,
what difference does it matter how much you have in play?
Okay.
If I'm lying, then...
tell me:
why did I hire a detective of my own?
Here.
Irving Feldman Investigations.
He's out of New Jersey. He's expensive.
Hasn't found much yet, but as you can see,
I hired him the day after the robbery.
So his first move was to try and locate the missing lookout,
Ian Walker.
Mm. He tried to track his phone.
Went to his house a couple of times.
Mail's piling up.
Kid's gone.
Lin's probably got him laying low somewhere.
You think Ms. Wen robbed her own game?
I don't think, I know.
Somebody doesn't like that girl. They dimed her out.
I got an e-mail yesterday.
Fake address, but the Intel was legit.
Said the money
was at her place, and sure enough...
You're the one who shot at her last night.
All I'll say, they were right.
She did it.
Find the money?
Not all of it, not even what I lost personally,
so I'm not sharing it,
if that's what you're getting at.
Keeping the cash at her own home,
that would've been careless.
You consider the possibility she was framed?
No.
But, hey, find out I got this all wrong,
locate the rest of my money, come show me...
...I'll make it worth your while.
Hey. I was beginning to think that you'd abandoned me
for the National Council of Sommeliers.
No, I was spending some time at the other end
of the cultural spectrum.
Earlier today, I had a rather fruitful tęte-ā-tęte
with one of the victimized poker players:
grown man who goes by the name Jimmer.
Oh, you think that's our guy?
He all but admitted to shooting at Ms. Wen.
But it would appear that he is just a trigger-happy pawn
for whoever is attempting to frame her.
If that's the case, we should move on
to one of the other players.
Hey, what about that missing lookout?
Ian Walker. Lin still hasn't
been able to get in touch with him.
Jimmer Hobberkin's private detective
used a find-my-phone app
to track Ian Walker's cell phone
to an abandoned construction site in Flatbush.
He was quite convinced he'd dumped it in a cement mixer,
but I've come to realize that he was mistaken,
and that we can remove Ian Walker
from our list of suspects.
I wish I could, but I'm probably gonna be working late.
I'm at this, um, new listing.
Mm. It's got good bones, but the tenants haven't
taken great care of it. What the hell are you doing?
Oh, hey, Mom, listen, I got to run. Okay, bye.
I told you not to call anyone. It's too dangerous.
Look, I'm sorry, but she worries about me.
Single mom syndrome.
It's okay. I used one of these disposables you guys have here,
and I'm sure I can trust my own mother.
This is not about trust; someone could be monitoring her phone.
Oh, come on. You know, I wish I told her to put on some makeup
just in case there are any satellites pointed at her.
Ian Walker is dead.
What? He didn't abandon his post
the night of the game, someone killed him.
Sherlock found his body.
I was gonna tell you last night, but you were already asleep.
Do you think it's the same person who shot at me?
No, that would be Jimmer Hobberkin. Jimmer?
Someone convinced him that you were behind the robbery.
Probably the thieves.
Odds are, they're the ones who killed Ian, too.
So, do the police know that he's dead?
Sherlock called them last night.
I know you didn't want them involved,
but a murder changes things.
These are for you. Get dressed.
Got to go down to the precinct and answer some questions.
A detective is on her way to pick you up.
Well, what about you?
I have to meet Sherlock at the morgue.
We have some questions we have to answer, too.
The cause of Mr. Walker's death is a little tough to sort out.
Doubt it helped
that this guy was rotting in a drain pipe
for a week while your client was pretending nothing happened.
I'm sure it didn't. But there's minimal decomposition.
That can't be the reason cause was difficult to ascertain.
No, it's because he was suffocated.
With a chloroform- soaked rag.
Initially, I thought it was toxicity.
But actually, he died from asphyxiation.
Someone just held it over his nose for too long.
Could have been an accident.
At least one of the gunmen was pretty worked up that night.
Hit the dealer so hard she blacked out.
Okay, but there's no good way
to estimate time of death at this point.
Maybe Walker was killed at the scene of the robbery,
maybe he wasn't.
He could have been in on it,
then got offed by his partners later.
His trainers suggest otherwise.
The scuffs on the heel
are incongruent with the newness of the shoes.
Note also that they are clean.
The area I found him was very muddy.
So perhaps he was killed at his post,
dragged away, then later carried
to his final resting place by a heavy smoker.
Yeah. I hurried the mass spec, per your request.
Glycerin triacetate and tobacco all over
the back of Ian's sweatshirt.
Domestic cigarettes.
I also detected faint traces of charcoal and coconut.
Right. Killer must have come straight from a luau.
While anything's possible, I think it would be premature
to trawl about at local Polynesian venues.
Better we focus on the penthouse in Tribeca
where the robbery was staged.
In the works. New owner's been notified.
I'm meeting the captain there in 30.
I'll go. You check on Ms. Wen.
Actually, I think you both should.
You didn't tell the captain about an armed robbery
for 24 hours.
Maybe give him that long
to forgive you.
No, end of the hall. Tell him.
Mel Cheney. Captain Gregson.
You and I spoke...
I thought you were gonna
hold off on this move today.
I called the company, but the truck was already on its way.
You can work around them, can't you?
No, not really. I was thinking this scuff
was made by a dead lookout getting dragged off.
Now I can't be sure one of your guys
didn't just bump it carrying a table.
Well, I'm sorry I couldn't
rearrange my whole life for the NYPD.
I told you,
I didn't even have the keys to this place
when this whole poker thing happened, so...
Whatever. Come in.
I'll tell the guys to take five.
I swept the back half-- nothing.
Also talked to the downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Ellis, age 92.
She claims, on the night of the robbery, she was asleep.
For once, I'm gonna call that a solid alibi.
There's nothing here.
Yeah. Just some plastered-over
bullet holes in the ceiling here,
right next to the lighting can.
Our friends' friend, the realtor,
hired a subcontractor to clean up
so the new owner wouldn't find out what happened.
It's all sanded and spackled.
I mean, CSU can
undo it so we can at least confirm the make of the weapons,
but that's about it.
What?
Something on my tie?
No, I was just thinking you look... different.
Oh, lost a few pounds.
I mean, you look different than you did
when you were standing over here.
There's something weird about the light.
Aside from the fact it casts a cooler hue, you'd never know
there's a tiny little spy camera in there.
Yes, I would.
I'm pretty sure that the signal range was enough
to reach local Wi-Fi.
So the thieves could see the room
they were about to storm into. In 1080p.
State-of-the-art motion sensor.
You screw it in, and it's live.
Impressive.
Creepy is more like it.
My kudos were for you, not for the bulb.
I'm glad to see you're taking my encouragement
to stay abreast of modern surveillance technology.
We have a deal?
In exchange for cooperation, 18 months probation
and mandatory attendance of Gam-Anon.
Well, Ms. Wen, you can start cooperating right now.
You recognize this? There's a camera inside.
Someone screwed it in right over your poker table.
What?
The warning shots the thieves fired almost hit it.
I don't get it.
This isn't mine.
Before the last open house, I put 27-watt bulbs in everywhere.
It's a staging thing-- makes the space more inviting.
I thought you said no one knew where
or when the game was being played until the day of.
They didn't.
And I was in there making calls and setting up most of the day.
So no one was in there by themselves?
Not before, during, even after the game?
The first player who showed up, Mateo Peņa--
he spilled some soda on the floor.
I left to get a towel to clean it up,
but I was only gone for, like, 30 seconds.
How long does it take you to screw in a lightbulb?
Two creamers.
Now can you tell me why the, uh, NYPD wants to talk to me?
You really can't guess, Mr. Peņa?
Th-The poker game?
Yes.
It has to do with the illegal poker game
you were at that got robbed.
The one Lin Wen organized
where the lookout was murdered.
Someone was murdered?
Is that really news to you?
Wait. You...
You think I... I'm a suspect?
That-that I would
stage an armed robbery?
I mean, come on. Look at me.
Oh, we are looking at you.
We see five empty cubicles.
We see a very anxious small business owner.
Insufficient cash flow is motive enough.
I am stressed, but you've got it backwards.
My company's growing so fast,
I had to get this new space; we'll fill it up.
W-We just landed New Zealand, see?
And what is it you do for New Zealand?
We handle information security
and digital infrastructure for their U.N. mission.
We've got the Kiwis,
Ukraine, Sudan, half a dozen other delegations.
So, no, cash flow is not a problem for me.
All right, let me tell you what is a problem for you.
This bulb you planted so your pals knew when to crash in,
guns blazing.
I-I don't, uh...
See the black powder?
It yielded two very good fingerprints: a right index
and a thumb. Personally,
I hate powdered creamer in my coffee,
but the residue on your fingers
should help give us a very good match.
Look...
I hid the camera that night,
but I didn't have anything to do with the robbery.
Keep talking.
Camera was to help me cheat.
I know what you're thinking. I'm a numbers guy.
But not in a way that translates to being good at cards.
At least not good enough.
I found that out the hard way
the first few times I played in the games Lin put together.
So, I started using the lightbulb cameras
and wearing an earwig so I could hear instructions.
I assume your Cyrano will be able to confirm this?
I don't know what that means.
But my assistant, Trevor-- he'd watch the flop,
and enter all the cards in play into a probability algorithm.
What about your cards?
We had signals.
He'd feed me the odds.
It'd help me make good bets.
I started winning a little.
Enough to salvage a little pride.
You were proud of cheating?
Just talk to Trevor.
He'll tell you.
I've been complaining about that robbery ever since it happened.
Now I'll never get
to play with those guys again.
And why would that matter?
I don't know.
I think about all the time I wasted studying game footage
to figure out the tells... You kept the footage?
Sorry, but if you're gonna keep incriminating evidence around,
you really ought to put it on an air gapped machine
in a secure server room, right?
Okay, so send the footage to these three e-mails, right?
That's right.
What are you doing?
Calling TARU, letting them know the footage is on its way.
No, you won't get a signal.
These walls have been coated with aluminum iron oxide.
Yeah, the-the stuff is mixed into the paint
to block wireless signals.
You can smell that? Yeah.
Unlike a few master sommeliers I could name.
I like your turtle.
The one downstairs. His bowl said "Clyde."
Thanks.
So, you used to cut people open for a living,
and now you're a private eye.
Why'd you quit?
You develop an allergy to making money or something?
I'm a little busy right now; Mateo Peņa just turned over
footage from the robbery.
I'm about to get a look at the thieves.
Looks like we're about to
get a look down my blouse, too.
You don't like me very much, do you?
You're a client. I don't have to like you.
I just have to help you.
Is that, like, the detective's code or something?
You were with him, too, weren't you?
Mycroft?
You were.
Wow. Guess he had a type, huh?
Do you mind?
Do you think he dumped you for me?
Is that why you don't like me? He didn't dump me.
Oh, my God.
Was he seeing us at the same time?
That's what you think.
You think he was two-timing you.
Say he was. That would mean he was also two-timing you.
True, but it's not like he and I were exclusive.
You said you were about to move in together.
Sure, but that wouldn't have meant
we had to stop having fun.
You're missing the show, by the way.
What happened?
Miss Watson, can you hear me?
Agent McNally?
Yeah, it's been a while.
I'd like you and your friend
to put your hands on the table away from the computer.
Now!
What is this?
The end of your investigation, I'm afraid.
We're confiscating the footage you were watching.
It and your laptop are being wiped.
Hold on. That's evidence for a murder investigation.
The NSA can't do this.
Actually, we just did.
And tell your partner to stay away from this one.
What are you talking about?
Sherlock? Let there be light.
Bullocks.
Is that my sports bra holding up a flashlight on your head?
Couldn't find my miner's helmet in the dark.
The irony's not lost.
I thought the electric company was gonna be able
to turn the power on from their end.
They found the glitch in their system.
Our board was shortened, however,
by the restoration of power.
Next time I see Agent McNally,
I'm going to invoice him for my labor.
This stunt was excessively juvenile, even for an agency
which self-identifies as "Big Brother."
That's funny, because I came down here
to talk to you about your brother. By all means.
Distract me why I'm holding 240 volts in my hand.
I take it you still think there's something amiss
about Ms. Wen's connection to your ex-lover.
It's more than a feeling.
That's why I reached out to your father yesterday.
I asked him to get a message to Mycroft.
So, you risked Mycroft's safety
and indebted yourself to Morland Holmes.
Well, Morland e-mailed me back; he said that Mycroft is safe
and alive on some Grecian island.
I have no idea which one. But here's the thing.
He has never heard of Lin Wen.
Do you think it's possible that they were lovers?
What?
Mycroft and Ms. Wen.
Well, she claimed they were. Then isn't it also
possible that he was just trying to spare your feelings
in his own self-serving kind of way?
Yes, it's possible. I warned you when
you took up with the man that he's not without his faults,
and I'm not just talking about his webbed toe.
He has a webbed toe?
Looking for bugs?
Maybe. Don't bother.
The NSA is slightly more sophisticated
than a cheating poker player.
If they wanted to spy on us, there are any number of devices
in our home which could serve as hot mics--
computers, phones, televisions.
We have little choice but to do as they say.
But somebody tried to kill me, and they did kill Ian.
Are you seriously just gonna walk away from that?
I'm sorry. It's over.
You can stay with us if you like.
The matter may soon resolve itself of its own accord.
Thank you.
Now if you don't mind,
this is where I usually listen to music and think.
This is a minor setback.
We don't take orders from the NSA.
We just need to approach
your list of players from a different angle.
Actually, the overhead angle of the game was very interesting.
I noticed one of the thieves had really bad hair plugs.
I'm talking baby doll hair.
So?
So there can't be that many hair restoration surgeons
in New York who are still punch-grafting.
Find the guy who did the work, we find the thief.
How did you get this?
My medical records are private, no?
This might shock you, Mr. Celik,
but we didn't find a single ethical clerk
in any of the three cheapest hair clinics in the city.
It would cost more to purchase one of these hookers than it did
to buy the files of all their military-age male patients.
But that's illegal.
Oh, completely.
This file would not be admissible in a court of law.
- No question. - It's also irrelevant.
I mean, no one's facing charges for getting cheap hair plugs.
No, all the evidence presented at your trial
will be about armed robbery and murder.
My trial? What are you saying?
You wore a hockey mask, but the Saturday before last,
you robbed a poker game.
I saw it on tape.
And then I saw this and recognized the hairline.
The Saturday before last, I was home.
I read a book.
Then it must be an astronomical coincidence
that you stock these.
The man who suffocated Ian Walker
left the scent of coconut and charcoal
all over the back of his sweatshirt.
Smelled just like these hookah coals.
Then it is a coincidence.
I was home.
You won't take my word? Take my brother's.
Murat!
Buraya gel!
These people want to know where I was a week ago.
Actually, it was more than a week ago. It was last...
We were home that night.
Let me guess,
you were both reading.
You think we can't read?
Gentlemen, you must
excuse my partner and I.
We were mistaken.
Good luck with the book club.
What happened in there?
Those guys are the right height, the right build,
and their alibi... Is preposterous.
Reasonable questions of literacy aside.
Okay, so then why did we stop questioning them?
Because we can expect more interesting answers
from more interesting people.
Your body odor is revolting, even from here.
I know the job is demanding, but you should find more occasions
to get into a shower. Excuse me?
The parking tickets you've planted on the windshield
are ancient, so I think it's safe to assume
that you've been keeping tabs on the Brothers Celik here
for quite some time.
NSA?
How they failed to notice this van a-rocking
and not come a-knocking is beyond my comprehension.
But I will draw their attention over here
if I don't get an audience with Agent McNally.
Washington Square Park.
I'll be at the chess tables on my own.
Have someone pick me up there in half an hour. Understood?
Excellent.
You're going alone?
I think it's best that way.
If I'm abducted by the men in black,
you can alert the authorities that we do trust.
What are you doing?
Borrowing these.
I would've asked, but that would require me calling you
on the phone, and I didn't want another speech.
And where do you think you're going?
You mean where do I know I'm going?
I have a life, bills, a job.
I have to show a place today, or I'm gonna lose
my best client.
It's a pocket listing; nobody's gonna know.
Too risky. Not a good idea.
Fine, then. Keep them.
Sorry I asked.
I know you've been lying to us.
You never dated Mycroft.
As far as I can tell, you never even knew him.
I... Listen, Lin,
I know, so please tell me the truth.
How did you know about him?
About me and Sherlock.
What made you think to come here?
How's this for the truth?
I'd rather take my chances on my own
than spend another minute living here with you.
Some of my guys wanted to send you a gift basket.
They were really sick of that van.
Could've spared us all the cloak and dagger
by just explaining why you were confiscating the footage.
Anything I said would've been a lie,
so it seemed better not to say anything.
"Omission is the most powerful form of lie."
Yeah, we get a lot of George Orwell quotes around here.
Uh, I'm a fan of "Four legs good, two legs bad."
I'm guessing you're not here to wax poetic
about 20th century authors.
I find nothing poetic about a government agency
watching passively as two Turkish agents
rob, maim and murder American citizens.
You mean the Celik brothers.
You expect me to believe that the NSA is surveilling them
because they are not spies?
I'm sorry. You said two agents.
There's three.
The brothers and-and their boss,
who you actually met.
You just didn't know it.
The dealer from the game.
Oh, we've been on them for months.
Bank statements, video of the store, audio of their homes.
It wasn't enough.
They're careful.
We didn't know
that they had robbed that game
or killed that kid until you came along.
And yet when those things were brought to your attention,
you did nothing.
There was nothing to do.
Nothing that we caught on tape
would've gotten you an indictment,
so why blow our cover?
Frankly, the U.S. government has bigger fish to fry
with Szofi Demir.
We don't know what kind of op
that robbery is meant to finance
or who she's really working for.
We have a highly placed source who's confident
that she's a double agent.
The identity of her new employer is unclear.
So we thought it would be better, we'd learn more
if we left her on the street a while longer.
Give me the files. You'll have your answers,
and the NYPD will close the case within a matter of days.
See, that's the thing. We don't have days.
After you visited the smoke shop,
Szofi and her pals requested extraction.
They're on a flight to Istanbul in seven hours.
Congratulations, Holmes.
You just helped three spies get away with murder.
I think I know why the NSA gave us the footage
of the robbery back; there's nothing in here
that we don't already know.
Still, good to be reminded
of the dangers of bashing your friends with Hungarian weapons.
Is it just me or
are Szofi and the Celik brothers awfully careless for spies?
I wish I was in a position to judge them more harshly.
But absent the discovery
of fresh evidence, it appears that they are
three and a half hours from besting us, and I shall be back
to the olfactory grind of sniffing out wine fraud.
Is that why you've been brushing your teeth for half an hour?
Mm-hmm. I will be unable to sully my sinuses with fluoride
and flavorants until that case is complete.
I do not intend to fail in my duties twice in a row.
Well, maybe they will beat us, but it'll be an ugly win.
I mean, their little fund-raiser
was a mess.
Szofi got hurt,
the lookout was killed.
Don't forget how inefficient the entire enterprise was.
They had to use half their haul on a frame-up because they chose
to rob a game with such... dangerous players.
Oh. You could just ask me to move.
Move, please.
What if Szofi and her stooges aren't as...
reckless as we thought?
Looks pretty reckless to me.
There.
Still there. What's still there?
Proof.
That the robbery was not designed
to fund some heretofore unidentified scheme.
It was designed to conceal some heretofore unidentified scheme.
Boy, that's tough to watch.
Yes, it is.
Why would you bring me here and make me relive this?
And who is this man?
- I'm not a friend. - He's here because
espionage doesn't fall in the jurisdiction of the NYPD.
But you already knew that, Szofi.
The robbery wasn't about the money.
It was kabuki theater, a distraction
from what was really happening.
Which was?
Keep your eye on the keys.
Here,
and then again...
here.
Aside from the set of keys
he makes a show of stealing,
he only moves one other set of keys.
The whole purpose of this robbery
was to create a wax impression
of a key which opens the server room at Semper Apex.
You had to do that without alerting the key's owner
that you'd compromised his business.
Semper Apex?
I'm unfamiliar.
Yes, you are.
The machines inside
Mateo Peņa's closet facilitate
diplomatic communications for half a dozen countries.
You can't get so much as a Wi-Fi signal in or out of there
unless you have a key.
This is an interesting theory, but I have a plane to catch.
I'm traveling with friends.
It's not a theory.
Your friends visited Semper Apex
the day after the robbery.
They posed as clients.
And in the middle of Mateo's sales pitch,
Vural stepped out to take a call.
He then used his duplicate key to slip in
and plant this.
It's a ghost jack.
The I.P. address which it was slaved to
does not belong to the Celiks or to the Turkish government.
It belongs to you.
The NYPD doesn't care about who reads Uzbekistan's e-mails.
You want the person
who killed Ian Walker, and I don't want to see
the inside of a courtroom.
Maybe we can make a deal.
Maybe, but I'm not with the NYPD, and these guys
can't entertain a deal without you first going on record
about what it is you do and who you do it for.
And I'm not talking about Turkey.
Who's your real boss?
Don't say it. Write it down.
Not everyone needs to know.
No, that's not what I said.
I did not claim to be able to read her penmanship
from across the room; what I observed were her pen strokes.
Oh. So now you can make out what someone's writing
by watching the top of their pen bob all around?
The top is connected to the bottom, and I know what I saw.
I just don't see why someone would develop a double agent
in Lower Manhattan.
I suppose they're ambitious.
No country wants an economy dependent on goat meat forever.
I have an errand. I'll meet you at home.
I don't have a cold. There was dust in there.
Yes, you keep telling yourself that.
You'd be wise to pencil in some time on the trampoline.
It's the little things you can't even see
that end up killing you.
And, trust me, copper pipes
beat galvanized across the board.
So worth it.
Anyway, don't hesitate to call.
I have a ton of other listings
if you want something less modern.
Thanks again for coming by.
I'm working.
At least I'm not crashing in here with a gunshot wound
and a wad of stolen cash.
We're gonna clear some things up.
First, I'm not crazy. You lied about knowing Mycroft.
Are you calling me a liar?
That is not a question. I am stating a fact.
Okay.
I didn't know Mycroft. So what?
So everything else about your story was true.
Why lie about that?
Maybe I did it to annoy you.
I think that's partly true.
Which is weird, because you don't even know me.
Right? The other day,
you called your mother from one of our burners.
I checked the listing. It was her home line.
Jing-Mei Wen.
She sure is all over social media.
Posts tons of sweet childhood photos of you.
A few friends commented
on how much fun they used to have at Mrs. Yun's house.
That used to be your name, too.
Did you know that the name Yun
dates back to the Qing Dynasty?
I do, because, before my stepfather adopted me,
I was Joan Yun.
Why don't you just admit you're my half-sister?
== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man